The hills are coated in message boards

& chatroom callers; dirty with arms

& poems about shoulders.


My lesson was learned so completely

at the hands of a girl; she taught me

driveway-love—where the kisses & palms go

—where tongues & fingers go.


We shed our skins, sipped from flasks,

& nursed it; but all was not forgiven, not when

nothing came of all our liquid-quick.


“O how I wish I could taste a mere second

of your hours,” He said. “We seek young love.”

As the bride showers our bleachers

—insipid as the flowers.


We can spread ourselves

& make love

on the arrases.


“O how I covet—O how I gnash my teeth—

while you wait before this precious ride of shivers

—& I’ll lay you forever at rest, here inside me.”

He said, at great length. With even greater tremors.


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